


He Calls You

by Areiton



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Declarations Of Love, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, POV Derek Hale, POV Second Person, Protective Derek, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 20:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13666491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: He calls youDerek,most. But sometimes--often, you realize--he calls you other names.You count them up, hold them close, keep them like a dragon hordes it’s treasure.





	He Calls You

He calls you  _ Derek,  _ most. But sometimes--often, you realize--he calls you other names. 

You count them up, hold them close, keep them like a dragon hordes it’s treasure. 

 

He calls you  _ big guy _ when he’s teasing, taunting you in front of the pack, light-hearted and smiling, just to hear you snarl  _ Stiles.  _

His smile, when you do is, blinding. 

 

He calls you  _ grumpy _ when you’re on a stakeout together, a smirk pulling at his lips as you tuck him under your arm, and shield him from the rain and grumble about the fragile human’s health. 

His lips brush against your throat, gentle and grounding. 

 

He calls you  _ babe  _ when other people are near, when they’re watching you with big hungry eyes and he presses into your space with a sure confidence of his welcome, with shaking hands and snapping eyes and a smile too sharp to be sweet. 

His lips are possessive, when he drags you into a kiss. 

 

He calls you  _puppy_ when you cuddle next to him, fur-clad and sleepy, and his hands drift through your fur with absent-minded affection. 

He sleeps like that, next to you, never pulls away from the wolf in you and you ache because of it. 

 

He calls you  _ big bad _ when you’re pissed, when his eyes are shining and furious, when you don’t know if you want to fuck or fight, and he always meets you where you are, with kisses edged with teeth, and hands that are too tight, and he shudders when you fuck him and claws dig into his hips. 

His eyes shine when you collapse next to him, and the bruised lips and marks from your lips paint the best battlefield you know.  

 

He calls you  _ buddy  _ when the Sheriff is close, his eyes laughing and his mouth twitching and the Sheriff sighs and tells him he’s an idiot and you feel the tips of your ears heat and you mumble a greeting and wipe your feet and Stiles watches you. 

His eyes are soft and fond when he tangles his fingers with yours as he sprawls next to you and the Sheriff watches. 

 

He calls you  _ sweetheart _ when he drags you from hunters, his hands frantic as they skim over your injuries as they tear away your bonds, his whole body shaking but his voice is soothing and holds you to him when you want to drift away. 

His grip is steady as he tucks you into his shoulder and leads you from the bloody safe house and you see the gore and bone he nudges you around underfoot, and the power in his fingertips as he murmurs that you’re almost there, you’re almost home. 

 

He calls you  _ idiot _ when he’s angry, when you’re being stubborn, when you’re bleeding and his heartbeat is racing and he smells of rage and terror, shoves you into a tree, a wall, a door, spits it in your face with a voice that shakes and eyes that are wild, and you hold him close with a hand on the back of his neck and a promise that you’re ok. 

His hands shake when he clutches you, refusing to let go.

 

He calls you  _ darling _ when he’s distracted, buried in research and papers, mumbles it around a pen clenched between his teeth, and he leans into your hand as you brush it over his cheek, sighs as you kiss him softly and curl next to him in the bed that smells of you and him and home. 

He’s smiling, wraps his foot around your leg and smells content as you fall asleep. 

 

He calls you  _ baby _ when you’re on your knees, when his voice is broken and his body is arching, shoving into you, the weight of his cock heavy and familiar on your tongue, his hands tight and just the right side of painful in your hair, chants it like a prayer, spits it like a curse, whines it like a plea, moans it as he comes down your throat, whining as you suckle until he’s twitching away. 

His eyes are soft and dazed, when he drags you to your feet and kisses you like you’re the whole goddamn world, and you believe it, for a moment. 

 

He calls you  _ good,  _ when you are pressed into the bed, when he’s hovering over you, his big hand wrapped around the back of your neck, when you’re limp and sweating and he moves in you like an inexorable wave, like the shift burning beneath your skin and his voice is breathless and warm, praises you with soft words and sure touches and promises that you are good, that you are always so  _ good _ for him. 

He hums and murmurs his approval, when you come, shuddering and whining his name and tells you that you’re good. 

 

He calls you  _ love _ on February fourteenth, before you start dating, and you stare at him, wide-eyed, startled over the box of fried rice he just asked for, and he shrugs, like it’s that simple. Like loving you is so familiar and comfortable it doesn’t bear panic or even the startled look you give him. Like loving you spills out of him.

He grins, small and private and pleased, when you huff his name and shove the rice at him, and kiss him quick and fleeting and hopeful. 

 

He calls you  _ mine _ when you marry him, in a stuffy little room at the courthouse, while John watches and Melissa smile and Lydia glares. He calls you  _ mine _ and you close your eyes, shuddering at the weight of that, at the promise in it, and he murmurs it, over and over, in your ear, his hand cupping your jaw as he presses it to your lips, and you lick it from his lips, the new pressure of his ring pressing against your skin, warm and solid and real. 

His eyes are gleaming with tears and triumphant when he pulls away, and you murmur his name, not sure how he thinks he won anything when you have the best thing in the whole world in your arms. 

 

He calls you  _ Derek _ , most, during the day, while you’re moving through the house, shouted through the preserve, wailed when you fuck him, murmured when you take him in your mouth while he’s sleeping. 

He calls you other things, though and you--

You call him Stiles. 

He has always been Stiles, and sometimes, those words, those easy declarations of love and affection, burn in your throat, fight to be free, and you stare at him, helpless because you  _ want _ to give him this, and you  _ can’t,  _ you  _ can’t.  _

_ Stiles _ , you say instead, almost plead and he smiles, gently, leans in to kiss you. 

It bothers you, for a long time. 

It bothers you, until you ask him. When you’re come-drunk and the sweat is still cooling on your skin, the taste of him still heavy on your tongue, when he rolls to the side and huffs,  _ Damn, baby.  _

You look at him then and ask,  _ Does it bother you? _

He’s quiet for a long time, and you nudge him. Say his name, exasperated and curious. 

He smiles and rolls up on his elbow to peer down at you. 

_ I always needed a lot of words, to say I love you. To say anything, really. But you--Derek. You’ve only ever needed my name, to tell me everything you feel. _

He kisses you, and you melt into it, as he smiles, against your lips and you whisper, 

_ Stiles.  _

His laugh is intoxicating, and his scent is bright and happy and you repeat it, just because you can, roll him beneath you, and press it to his skin like a rune, like the strongest magic he tattoos into his skin--press your lips there and breath,  _ Stiles.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Have a lovely Valentine's Day, y'all. Have some chocolate and wine from me. Unless you're not into that, then just read the fluff. <3


End file.
